Under Influence of Polyjuice
by Shhh-Its-An-Alias
Summary: Obsession. Addiction. What Hermione did when wearing Bellatrix's body, what she still wants to do to her... Bella/hermione femslash of sorts. One-shot.


I found myself thinking of her all the time. There was never a second I didn't daydream about what I would do to that woman. Dark hair running in wild curls halfway down her back, Huge dark brown almost black eyes, and those full, dark, perfect lips. I couldn't get her off my mind. I'd find myself daydreaming about her, what it be like to hold her, to kiss her... I couldn't pay attention and found myself missing entire conversations when dreaming of her. I was so unlike me, I'm not used to feeling so utterly and entirely infatuated with someone. With a woman... with a woman like her.

She was dark (in every sense of the word) dangerous twisted and sadistic. We were running from the very same darkness, from him the Dark Lord, Voldemort. And from her, Bellatrix. Was I really running away? Or was I running straight into her arms? Would I be happy either way? I was meant to be figuring out where the remaining horcrux's were but I just found myself sketching out those dark eyes there were so many pairs of them staring at me out of the page, every shape and size, but I could never get them right. How can you capture perfect? It was a constant search for perfection when I was supposed to be searching for something entirely different.

Harry and Ron had no idea. How was I supposed to tell them? Confess that the woman that killed Sirius was stalking my dreams and luring me in. Nothing good could ever come from this deep obsession, there could only be pain, brought on by the truth, by rejection, by torture. Well, maybe I'd get lucky and in bringing down my best friends she'd deem it fine to keep me as a sort of pet, the kind of pet you sleep with preferably. She was an addiction, a terrible addiction, the more I thought of her, the more I wanted to. I wanted to touch her, hold her, make her scream my name until her voice was hoarse and she was lay under a sheen of sweat, her naked body just quivering and... No. I couldn't... just tease myself.

How could this happen to me? I'm good, not pureblood but I am pure. I'm fighting to rid the world of murderers like her, but being honest, I don't think I could hurt her. I'm a good person, I fight for the light side. Or at least... I'm supposed to... but I can't do it, keep pretending that is. Even in the few minutes when I can forget about her, she's never completely gone. Like a parasite she's latched onto me and her lips and eyes are burned into my mind, embedded in the dark space behind my eyelids.

It was after the incident at Malfoy manor that this obsession took hold, otherwise I would have enjoyed my time there a lot more. But as it turned out I hadn't quite lost my golden opportunity. It was a relatively small detail in a plan that could kill us all, a plan in which I would have to wear the body of Bellatrix Lestrange. I couldn't help it, I knew it was wrong. Very wrong, but the boys gave me ten minutes to get used to the shape of this new seductive body, at my insistence of course. So I lied told them I needed a little time, I did. Just not for the pure intentions that they had assumed. I pulled my normal muggle clothing off the body too womanly for it to fit comfortably and looked at myself in the conjured mirror.

I don't know how she managed to live with a body this perfect, the body that belonged to Bellatrix had what I could only call a perfect hourglass shape, whether this was caused or just assisted by the corset she seemed to always wear I didn't know, I didn't really care, I just wanted to get underneath the real Bellatrix's corset to caress the breasts I saw before me, see her eyes roll back into her head in pleasure, and lustful ecstasy. But I knew I could not. This was the closest I could ever get, touching her with her own hands, hearing her moans escape from her lips that I was in control of, the wild hair I caressed and tugged on with one hand as I touched myself, her, in a place I never had before, rubbing myself, sending her long fingers to pleasure myself in her shell, delving deep with the burning, wetness, slick with her juices.

It was me inside her, using her. It was filthy, wrong, forbidden, neither side had done this, just me, I alone had dropped so low to use magic to fulfil the deranged lustful fantasy of a sex-starved teenager. Was it me or in her, my, brain was there a corner that was lust filled too? Could I tell from inside the shell? Was there any link to her thoughts when I was wearing her body? I would have said yes, but I genuinely didn't know if there was a link (however tenuous) to the death-eater I had naked and writhing under her own fingers. I didn't know. I would have said yes. I would have. But I still wasn't sure, did she have that longing for me? Some filthy mudbood she had seen less than a handful of times? Or was it just wishful thinking? I didn't know. I didn't care, I was lost in the repetitive motion of the fingers, my fingers, hers. Deeper as she travelled to meet them her moan's issued from my lips. Lost as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through my body, panting breath and sweat followed as the wild thrusting came to a halt, shudders flowed after that. Trembling through my stolen body as this uncontrollable pleasure reached a peak. A primal cry escaped as I arched into pleasure and lost myself in the moment.

In a second it was over, After that, after the orgasm, it was all over. The orgasm itself was earth-shattering, an impossibility, the height of pleasure the likes of which I thought were well out of the realms of ordinary people. But more than that, I could see Bellatrix was beautiful, in more ways than the lustful, carnal, sexually enticing way, though dark in more ways than one, her skin glowed a pale and pure cream, light in the darkness so potent it was practically glowing. She was thin and still had the lithe body that a teenager had, how did a woman confined for most of her life keep herself as what could only be described as perfection? I touched the perfect red lips and tasted myself, tasted her. Was it me or her that tasted so good? I didn't know.

But I wanted nothing more than to find out.


End file.
